Page 115 of Goalie Interference

The crowd erupts. Their cheers are so loud they match the noise level of our goal horn.

Brandon did what he promised.

Ander

Their goal horn blares again, bringing the score back to a tie of three a-piece. This game is quickly becoming a goddamn slug fest, and Gavin hasn’t even thrown a single punch.

Every time we gain some ground, the Mules answer back. And now with only two minutes left in the third period, Ryan scores off his backhand, sending the puck right over my extended right shin pad. I swear, I saw the puck skim the stitching before it flipped in behind me.

Unsurprisingly, Coach Matthews calls a timeout.

Prepared to take a verbal lashing from Coach, I make my way over to the bench. When I get there, he says nothing. Instead, he lets Gavin take the lead.

“Don’t dwell on it,” Gavin tells me, then turns to the rest of the team. “All we need to do is get to overtime. Beat them like we did last season. Play smart. No risky plays. Nobody try to do anything cute, or stupid. No one try to be a hero. And for fuck’s sake, stay the hell out of the box! No penalties.”

In years past, that last part would have been a directive by Coach primarily for Gavin. But now, Gavin’s given up his title. No longer is he the King of Penalty Minutes. Team captain is a much better look on him.

I bump his fist with my glove, then head back to my net. This is it. Two more minutes and then we can get a break while they resurface the ice. Two more minutes and we can come back onto the ice as if the game has started over. First to score wins. That was us. We can do it again.

Nikolai

“They think they have us,” Danton says to the team. “They want this game to go to overtime. Well, I don’t. I want to win now. I want to strike while the ice is tilted in our favor. Someone right here is about to be a hero. It’s up to you to choose if you want that to be you or not.”

Ryan, Brandon, O’Shea, and Clemmers all skate away towards center ice. But Danton grabs my elbow before I can go. “Hold strong,” he tells me. “Be my Russian brick fucking wall. We are winning that goddamn cup. And after I hold it in the air, I’m passing it to you next.”

He lightly whacks my backside with his stick, sending me on my way back to the net.

There is something to be said about losing this same game last season. Experiencing the heartbreak of loss at this magnitude has rewarded me with a new sense of determination not to feel that ever again.

The puck drops and Ryan wins the faceoff. But it’s a short-lived win. He’s instantly taken down by Gavin. Brandon chases after the loose puck, but Tavish beats him to it, then passes it to Connor.

I crouch into my stance and do as Danton requested. Turn myself into a brick fucking wall. That puck is not slipping past me again. No way. No how.

But I know their plan. They know their best chance at winning is in overtime. It worked for them last year. So they’re going to play a little game of passing the puck around to draw time off the clock.

That’s fine. They can try that. Us Mules have other plans.

Brandon comes around Tavish and lifts his stick with his own just as Tavish is about to pass it. Connor flies over, trying to intercept it, but Brandon has already flung it away towards O’Shea. It lands right on O’Shea’s tape. But Gavin is headed straight towards him.

O’Shea dips low as Gavin impacts him. He eats the hit but manages to maintain control of the puck that he passes to Ryan. Ryan takes off with Brandon in line with him, coming up the right side, with every member of the Blizzards chasing after them.

Connor is right on Ryan’s heels. A flash of how this went down last year plays in my mind. But then, it was the opposite. Ryan was chasing Connor, and Connor chipped one right past me to win the cup.

Not tonight. Not this time.

Connor catches up to Ryan and he’s attempting to lift his stick with his own, but Ryan holds strong. He manages to pass the puck to Brandon who has a wide-open lane. He fakes like he’s going to shoot right as the puck lands on his stick, getting Ander to dive for it. Then sends it over Ander’s outstretched body right into the back of the net with sixteen seconds left on the clock.

Brandon slams himself against the boards in celebration. Before his feet hit the ground, Ryan is on him, wrapping him into a celebratory hug against the glass. O’Shea, Clemmers, and Danton reach him next.

As for me, all I can do is stand in victory, raising my stick. Sixteen more seconds. That’s all I have to endure alone down here before I can celebrate with my team.

I know the Blizzards. Their plan is still to bring this game to overtime. And sixteen seconds, believe it or not, is more than enough time for them to score, tying the game up again.

Old me might have panicked at this moment. But not now. Not the me that I have grown to be in my years in the league. I’m hungry. My team is hungry. We’re winning that goddamn cup.

After Coach Chris switches up our lines, putting Roysy, Reinhold, and Gauthier out there along with Clemmers and Danton, I know his plan.

We don’t need offensive power right now. We need our shut down line. We need the five guys most likely to put their bodies on the line to eat whatever pucks and hits are lobbed at them to win this game.